the ghosts you can't exorcise
by darlingdearestdoll
Summary: "a guy and a girl can just be friends. but at one point or another, one of them will fall for the other. maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever." - one-sided hikaharu, tamaharu


**Rated: T because I'm not sure this is actually safe for children to read. A teenage boy's mind is a very dark and dirty place that no-one should be wandering off to XD Kidding, it's just too dramatic - and while I'm sure many kids probably know what xxx means (if you don't then good for you XD) but a rating is a rating, and I just can't risk getting my story deleted, hmmm?**

 **Summary:** "A guy and a girl can just be friends. But at one point or another, one of will fall for the other. Maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever." - hikaharu

 **Author's Note:** Because I need to keep indulging myself in teh feels TT^TT TTATT This is, well, as canon as it gets, so **spoiler alerts**. Oh good, I just have to melodramatize the feeling of a fifteen-year-old boy too XD

 **Disclaimer: The quote belongs to** _ **500 days of summer**_ **.** _ **Ouran High School Host Club**_ **belongs to Bisco Hatori. I. Own. Nothing.**

* * *

 _a guy and a girl can just be friends_

* * *

"Ooh, cinder girl looks great~"

She leaned back just a slightest inch from the vanity mirror and glanced at him through long lashes. Light streamed directly into her eyes, reflecting into fusions of white ribbons in onyx irises, her fingers twirling a lock of heaven on perfectly manicured tips; and Haruhi looked distinctly crisp and fragile without all the uncaring layers of façades on. Maybe, he thought, his eyes rolled down at her dress, maybe that was the exact reasons why she hid herself.

Haruhi tapped a finger under her chin,

"And you look normal, so it would be a lie to follow common courtesy and feed your ego."

His face broke into a grin.

"Ah, Haru. I'm hurt, truly."

It was their familiar banter – Hikaru knew better than to take actual value of those words. Her face mellowed into a tiny smile at the endearing nickname. She turned back to the mirror, examining her face more. What was there to even try anyway, she looked perfect; his fingers reached out to clamp down on her shoulders but stopped midway.

"Don't fidget. It'll ruin the dress," and she looked up at him again, eyes full of complicating simplicity that he couldn't really understand after all those years but loved nonetheless; for a few moments Hikaru caught drift of something dark underneath the surface.

The white chiffon looked ruffled. His fingers ghosted over her cheekbones, gliding smoothly down the white, unblemished column of her neck, complimented nicely by her dress. _Her dress_ , he bitterly noted, something he got to see first-hand, and that counted as both a blessing and a curse.

His fingers tangled themselves in her hair, braiding in and out like ribbons in a breeze. Hikaru pulled at her French twist, messing them up until some shorter locks curtained her face. His breath slipped down her skin, and he exhaled a short sigh.

"There," He whispered, her name dropped easily out like second nature, and because he liked the sound of the word on his lips, "All done, Haruhi." The white veil fell down, separating them.

"All perfect."

Her hands slid down from the lapel of his vest ( _when did they even get up there?),_ folding themselves neatly on mahogany desk.

Their reflection in the mirror looked every bit the future he dreamed of but would never happened. Hikaru took a hasty step back, away from her. His voice faltered.

He almost ran away.

* * *

 _but at one point or another, one of them will fall for the other_

* * *

The church was dark when he cracked open the door. Creaking sound reverberated in his ears, and Hikaru frowned, stepping toward.

It was alarmingly cold. He wondered if she was really in here.

(The puddles and those footsteps could have been someone else's couldn't it…?)

She sat under a table, trembling like a wounded animal, her face pushed between two shaking legs and streaks of tears that she attempted to hide but failed majestically. He knew she obviously didn't want anyone to see her like this, vulnerable and hurt.

 _And it's_

 _all_

 _your fault._

He grew nervous when his legs took long strides toward her. Rain drops barreled into his mind, realization hitting like a tons of brick.

"Haruhi."

She didn't acknowledge him, at first. With how scared she was, he supposed she didn't even know he was there.

(A tiny little boy clenched his angry fists and stomped, "me me me –")

It was… unnerving, to say the least. Haruhi coiled around herself, her breath shallow. He choked on unfamiliar heartbreak, and the thick mist blanketing them was almost like cotton candy in a festival or someone's tear-stained vision after sobbing.

And this was how it went: He quickly pulled a tablecloth down – an unused thing that made them both choke a little and blink their eyes to keep the gray dust from their systems; cocooning her in layers and layers of white cloth. She was a slight thing, and the tablecloth was quite voluminous; he had a lot of fabric to work on. His earphones weren't on, but Hikaru was pretty sure she wouldn't mind anyway.

His arms wrapped around her shoulders, he tucked her head under his chin and willed the rain to go away; and for a moment, he was almost good enough.

(He frowned at how she trembled delicately in his embrace.

 _It's all /your/ faults._ )

"I'm sorry."

* * *

 _maybe temporarily_

* * *

She glanced at the clock on the wall with not-quite-enthusiasm in her eyes, a blue ribbon around her heart, and he didn't know why he was doing this. Didn't know why he kept rubbing salt into his own wounds and smiled like everything was right with the world – because it wasn't.

Everything wasn't right.

Haruhi was breaking apart. Of course. She wasn't that obvious (she'd like to think so, at least) – but he had known her forever; and wasn't you supposed to notice everything about someone you cared for?

She was pushing herself toward him – in his arms, again; he couldn't stop himself from a selfish part, a traitorous whisper, isn't this right? Shouldn't things go this way and nobody would have to get hurt?

"Hikaru," she hiccupped, her voice faltered to pieces of dust; dulldulldull, _don't say anything, let it stay like this for just one more moment –_

And he was there, but he wasn't in her eyes, was he? She blinked tired eyes and chestnut hair faded into blond locks; T, a, m, a, k, i, –

"Confess to tono, Haru."

She stared at him with stars in her eyes and her soul laid bare underneath. He bit his tongue, refraining from saying anything stupid. One wandering finger lingered under her chin, mapping out in the hollow under her jaw, burning every little detail into his mind. A piece of her he would keep in a little box and lock away, peeking at it when he wanted to; and his touch glided effortlessly like he belonged there with her – like the last thing he wanted to do was waking up and feel the pulse in her veins, the soothing steady beats of her heart, or just the sound of her smile etching on pink lips and ebony hair that would grow longer someday.

She was tiny, a little thing that would slip away out of his touch if he wasn't careful; his head reeled from the impact of touching her (but not quite.)

"I… I don't know?" – He didn't know, either. He didn't know. _He didn't know._ A boy with innocent mind and blue roses in his hair and a fragile heart inside toy armor, but he knew nothing about the adult world ahead that would force him to conceal his feelings and hone his actions.

She drew into herself, but he caught her wrist. Haruhi stood on the other side of the cliff, waving for him to jump, and there were his choices. It was his time; and he could be selfish if he so chose to. But he didn't.

For Hikaru had loved her with more than flesh, loved her more than the curious crush or the teenager phase, loved her more than her body or her status with all of his own; and despite every odds against his favors, he had loved her still.

But Haruhi would prefer him to give up. Haruhi had never wished to inflict pain upon anyone, let alone anyone in the host club – the closest thing she had to a family. It's her conscience, he supposed. She who knew it all too well – he knew the sighs she gave and the guilty looks she sneaked at him when she thought no-one paid attention – would unconsciously prefer him to deny everything, even his own heart, even the startling realization, even the truth set in stone on his part.

"Haruhi, confess to tono." – He repeated, bitterness seeping in just a tiny portion. "That… will be wisest for everyone."

And this was how he loved her: He obeyed.

* * *

 _Maybe at the wrong time_

* * *

Blame it on his impulses: Maybe Hikaru was just glad that to be alive. Kaoru fussed at him worriedly – he had a right to do so. Haruhi breathed a relieved sigh, watching snow remnants dissolving on his face into water and melted.

(How many excuses do you need to fall in love?)

Falling for Haruhi was simple. A touch there, a smile, caring, and he couldn't dissolve away the butterflies in his stomach; and his feeling for her was a _redred_ rose thriving off thick pure vodka and unrequited love. It was him: diving headfirst into any unknown and falling on his face, vulnerability and cosmic beauty spun around a red thread, her face among the jagged lines of his memories and a distinct sense of individuality that no-one but Haruhi could bring out. If Hikaru had been feeling particularly poetic, he would have said she brought out a heart he didn't know was there until it beat for her (but it was too sappy, too cliché, a little too related maybe? Shhhh, that could be _overlooked_ –)

"Hikaru" was the only thing she told him – no twins or Hitachiins, anything – it's always just "Hikaru", and she had him in her palms like a toy.

"Are you okay? I think –"

Her eyes glazed with concern. _Oh. This is how a heart beats._

"Haru." His eyes dropped quietly. "Haruhi," Hikaru repeated again, successfully interrupted her, one finger pressed against her lips and the dripping cloth in her hands forgotten, a genuine smile on his lips.

"I love you, Haruhi. Go out with me."

* * *

 _Maybe too late_

* * *

In all honesty, Hikaru knew he wouldn't stand a chance. Not because he had such low self-esteem – God, no, that would be terrifying. And no, not because he was such a masochist. Well, the last part was debatable.

It was because he never really had a chance to begin with. Not with how Haruhi loved, like a dam was broken somewhere along the way: She fell slowly, and then all at once. And if she loved Tamaki the way Hikaru loved her, then there would be no changing. The dedication, the care, the joy, all of them… just couldn't, wouldn't shift.

But that had never stopped him before, now, had it? He ran into things with reckless abandonment, no matter the outcome.

(Even if you know something's gonna end doesn't mean you can't enjoy the ride.)

He wondered if anyone had realized her brilliance. Maybe not. She chose to stay low, like water under a bridge, a practiced obliviousness and determination shone bright underneath. He didn't know if she realized this yet, but she mended them all. Stitching together the unfitting fabrics that were the six of them and pressed out the darkness, the past that haunted them all but wasn't ever exorcised.

(Cracking open an ice heart is another way of saying you broke it, and there were embers in her eyes, light and gentle but still managed to thaw those covers away.

In the end, there is a crack in everything – that's how the light gets in.)

 _Primavera_ , a girl with stars in her eyes and a voice that was made to say his name, Hikaru whispered quietly, and he fell in love with her the way he fell into ocean, salt rubbing his skin raw and tender, sharp sea-glass and remnants of a faith shredded into pieces wider than the gap between his fingers.

Fuck, he already knew she wouldn't love him back.

 _Oh. This is how a heart breaks._

* * *

 _Or maybe forever._

* * *

There he was. There she was. They all were here, watching the union that would happen sooner or later.

She looked beautiful in white. Hikaru would have loved to hate Tamaki, but that was just impossible, tono was someone dear to every of them, he owed the guy as much as he did to Haruhi.

He would have loved to say that they don't match, but that would just be another lie.

They newlyweds glowed, a faint aura of golden happiness curled around them; and she looked contented. Like all she ever wanted to be was there.

He walked towards them, dreamscapes broken inside and a thousand pieces of fantasy exploded into bright light; shadows lurking under his jaw and wedding of halcyon splashed on his fingertips.

"Congratulations!"

Tamaki smiled sunshine; a joy too much for words to express.

His lips hurt.

His eyes crinkled at her, a twinge of bittersweet memories and what-could-have-been splattered on thin kaleidoscopic surface, _this is it, this is it, just once –_

" _Primavera."_

She tasted like strawberry and goodbye, he thought, he wondered. Hikaru lingered at the corner of her lips; locking her away in a jewel trap with broken hourglasses and golden sand scattering around like diamond dust. The grapevines trembled around them.

Their lips came apart with a quiet 'pop'. From the corner of his eye, Tamaki looked at him worriedly – never angry, they are a family and that hurt even more.

Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow, they would all be back to good friends. Tomorrow he would back away and let his feelings go.

Once upon a time, a prankster-child loved his best friend, a cinder girl with healing hands and watery eyes, a girl who soothed him, made him feel complete. Cinderella, in turn, had her prince, and happily ever after.

He was almost good for her. She was almost in love with him. They almost made it.

[But not quite.]

(She's the kind of girl you meet when you're too young, and you fuck up only because there's too much loving to do. Only to find she's the one. And love is wanting the other one to be happy, even if that doesn't include you. Love is completing the glass puzzle of someone, a ballad that you dance together even if none of you know how to waltz. Love is photographs of something insignificant, and yet you still cherish it, still love it for the story behind. Love is diving in and love is holding back. Love is letting them go.)

He turned around a curt corner of future and watched his _almost_ s and _maybe_ s burn away, wisps of smoke shimmering under sunlight like a bruise that would never heal; because Hikaru couldn't lose anything when it had never been his to begin with, spring was replaced with winter; and _hope lies and love is nothing._

* * *

 **Erm, plot summary: In Tamaki and Haruhi's wedding day, Hikaru had a trip down memory lane. He kissed the bride then processed to give up on his feelings for her, completely letting go. But that just sounds lame, doesn't it :v**

 **Primavera means spring, I think. Not-so-coincidentally, Haru – a shortened form of Haruhi – also means spring. So… um… yeah. [awkward hand gesture]**


End file.
